PART 5–CHAPTER 187
LUKE
The hum of the blender filled the kitchen as I forced myself to focus on my morning ritual. Protein powder, frozen berries, almond milk–simple, mindless, efficient. The blender whirred louder, drowning out Francesca’s high–pitched voice as she chatted animatedly with someone on her phone nearby.
She’d somehow moved in when I wasn’t paying attention- maybe it was one of those nights I came back too tired to argue, or maybe during the hours I was on the field, grinding through practice. Now, I had purple throw pillows on my black leather couch, as if my place was her personal showroom. I had less closet space, and the entire apartment smelled like her perfume–sickly sweet, the scent lingering like it had seeped into every fiber of my life.
“God, the way I’m blowing up, you’d think I was already five months along, not five weeks, or was it 6 weeks? Doesn’t matter…” she whined into the phone, sounding more irritated than anything else. “I mean, when’s the last time I even touched a burger? At least I can get away with it now… but I swear if this makes me look too big in those photos…”
I clenched my jaw, wishing I could tune her out. The rest of her conversation drifted into the usual spiel: brands, designers, clothes, each detail as shallow as the next. Every word was like nails on a chalkboard, especially at seven in the morning.
“But hey, guess what?” Francesca said, her voice brightening. “I
talked to Lucas from the agency, and he swears they’ll keep me on with at least three designers. Just need to bounce back fast, lose the baby weight, and I’ll be golden.” She laughed, a light, almost forced sound that only grated on me more. “They’d be lucky to have me back with my pre–baby body.”
The blender clicked off, leaving an unbearable silence. I poured my smoothie into a shaker, listening to the ice cubes clink as I screwed on the lid, keeping my head down, not wanting to
engage.
But, of course, she couldn’t let me slip out of the kitchen that easily. Francesca lowered her phone and looked at me, voice dripping with sugar–coated excitement. “Are we going to that new restaurant launch tonight, babe?” She smirked, holding up her phone like she was already posing. “We could get a few good photos while I’m still skinny?”
I groaned inwardly, biting down on the frustrated sigh clawing at my throat. I barely managed a nod, just wanting to get out of there. Was this really my life? I took a long sip from my smoothie, hoping it’d help numb the gnawing irritation under my skin.
But I had to remind myself why I was here in the first place. I was going to be a father. And as much as Francesca tested my patience, this wasn’t about me. It was about the child I was going to raise–the one I was determined to love and protect, to be a better father than the one I’d had. I’d do whatever it took to give this kid a better life, even if that meant swallowing down the urge to walk out whenever Francesca drove me up a wall. This was about more than us now.
As I turned, heading toward the living room to escape the
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barrage of designer talk, her words filtered back to me again, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. “Yeah, I know,” she said, her voice. lower and serious. I had to choose, and this was the better option. You know that!”
I paused in the doorway, frowning. There was an edge to her tone I couldn’t quite place, a sharpness that lingered in the air. Something that made me turn back.
“Oh, babe. Hold up.” Francesca’s tone shifted back to honeyed. sweetness as she looked over her shoulder at me, tilting her head, her phone still clutched in her manicured hand. I spun around, doing my best to keep an expression that looked interested–or at least neutral. “Yeah? Babe?” I gritted out, the word tasting bitter on my tongue,
She smiled, that same calculated grin she used on the camera, and leaned forward. “Would you wear that dark blue shirt I got you? You know, the Marc Jacobs one? You’d look killer in it, babe. It’ll match my dress perfectly.”
I barely contained the eye–roll that wanted to escape. “Whatever you want…” I mumbled, glancing up at the ceiling as if it might help me find some patience. Sacrifice, I told myself. Just a small one. Do it for the kid.
I was halfway down the hallway, smoothie in hand when Francesca’s voice drifted toward me again. “Oh, don’t worry, babe, I’ll get it. Probably a delivery for me anyway,” she said as the doorbell rang, her words dripping with that familiar
confidence.
The sound echoed through the apartment, and I’d almost shrugged it off as another designer bag or some new shipment of whatever she thought she needed–until I heard a voice from
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the doorway. One that stopped me in my tracks, a voice that reached out like it knew exactly where to find me, where to hit me the hardest.
Jess.
My body stiffened, every nerve on high alert. I hadn’t even seen her face, but that voice was enough, too familiar and too close. She had no place here–except in my head, haunting my dreams, sneaking into my thoughts when let my guard down. I needed to fucking sleep more because I was hallucinating now as well…
I set my smoothie down, my hand still wrapped around it as if it might keep me grounded. But my feet moved, pulling me back down the hallway, closer to that sound.
